After Action Review
by The Evil Author
Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie.
1. The Briefing

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. First up, Secretary of Defense John Keller gets briefed on a few more things that he didn't have "Need to Know" before.

Disclaimer: All things Transformers belong to Hasbro. All things Buffy belong to Joss. All things Stargate belong to… someone or other that is not me. And the Pentagon belongs to the U.S. government which itself theoretically belongs to the people gag choke,,, On with the story!

**Office of Homeworld Security**

**The Pentagon**

**Washington D.C.**

**One week after the "Incident"**

"Welcome to the Office of Homeworld Security, Mr. Secretary," greeted Brigadier General Jack O'Neill as he ushered John Keller into his office.

"It's a closet," Keller said as he took in the cramped confines. The examination did not take long. It couldn't even had he wanted it to.

"That it is, sir," O'Neill confirmed as they took their seats.

"Why in God's name is the fate of the world placed in such a tiny office space?" Keller asked indignantly.

"Several reasons, sir," O'Neill replied. "One is that it helps maintain the secret that there even is an Office of Homeworld Security. Two, the Pentagon office mostly acts as a clearing house for… ah, esoteric intel and runs interference with the politicos so that our field people can get on with their jobs. And three, most of our budget actually goes to the various field installations that do most of the world saving anyway."

There was a pause as the two men glared at each other. Finally, John Keller sighed.

"I'm sorry, General," Keller said apologetically. "I've been having a hell of a week. First I find out our planet's been invaded by aliens. Then I find our half the government already knows aliens exist!"

"Certainly not half, sir," O'Neill said diplomatically.

"Seems like half," Keller muttered. "Certainly half the Joint Chiefs. Why was it that I, the damned Secretary of Defense, didn't have Need to Know about something like this? Who made that call?"

"The President."

"Yeah, I'll be giving him a piece of my mind later too," Keller said dryly. "Now why don't you tell me what I'm doing here?"

"I take it you've read up on the SGC and the Atlantis project?" O'Neill asked.

"I got most of the highlights," Keller replied. "Instant travel across the galaxy and beyond. Parasitic snakes, Ancients, Ori, Wraith... I still can't believe we're running a two front intergalactic war."

"Well, sir, I'm going to brief you on the analysis my people have been doing of our new arrivals," O'Neill told him. "We've been analyzing the dead aliens, Sector's Seven data, and the remains of the, um, locally created robots. And can I say it was really irritating to learn that we had an alien in the basement after we'd been fighting other aliens for ten years?"

"Welcome to the club," Keller said, the first hint of humor in his voice.

"Thanks sir," O'Neill replied with equal good humor. "Anyway, it turns out that on the scale of alien technology, these Autobots and Decepticons aren't really all that advanced."

"Excuse me?" Keller said, not quite believing what he was hearing. "They seemed pretty advanced to me."

"Yeah, my people were pretty impressed too," O'Neill admitted. "However, once we realized that the transformation ability was a result of the Cube, we took a look at their component technologies. Examination of the robots made by the Cube from our own technology showed that even though they could transform, they were still made of same materials and had the same parts as they did preCube. All the eggheads have come to the conclusion that the alien robots were originally created from a technology base about on par with that of what the Goa'uld have. While that's advanced by Earth's standards, it's hardly top of the line."

"What about their ability to transform?"

"That came from the Cube, sir," O'Neill told him. "Technology wise, the Cube is a whole other ballgame entirely. In ten years of active Stargate operations, we've never seen anything like the Cube. The closest thing we've seen is the Dakara Superweapon, and that thing was the size of a mountain. The Cube's energies look similar but not identical to what the Replicators used, but we're not sure if there's a connection there or if it's just coincidence. But we've never seen anything that could change its size and mass the way the Cube could."

"What about these Ancients?" Keller asked. "Aren't they supposed to be the oldest and most advanced aliens with technologies that seem like magic? Couldn't the Cube have been made by them?"

"That was our first thought," O'Neill admitted. "But we've done a few interviews with the Autobots since the battle. These guys live a long time, sir, and they've been fighting each other almost as long."

"How long?"

O'Niell took a breath. "Eleven million years… at least."

"What?"

"Eleven million years ago they started fighting each other," O'Neill continued. "Four million years ago, they jettisoned the Cube into deep space. These guys live such a long time that while they know about faster than light technology, they apparently don't use it all that much."

"So they were made by the Ancients?" Keller asked.

"That's just it, sir. We don't think so," O'Niell said. "According to our admittedly sketchy understanding of galactic history, the Autobots and Decepticons were around long before the Ancients arrived in our galaxy, and were around when the Ancients left. And the Cube is even older than they are, implying that there's some alien race out there that is or was older and more advanced than the oldest most advanced race we know about. And knowing our luck, we're going to run into them some day."

"That's… disturbing," Keller said, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he were developing a headache… or already had one.

"Yes it is, sir."

"Have you started employing any of these Autobots in the Stargate Program?" Keller asked.

"We considered it, sir," O'Neill answered. "In the end, we decided not to."

"Why not?" Keller said, surprised. "I was under the impression that we needed all the help we can get."

"First and foremost, we didn't want them to get the idea that it was okay for them to kill us squishy humans… or anything that could be mistaken for human," O'Neill told him. "Given their size, they might have a hard time telling the difference between the good guys and bad guys. Not only that," O'Neill looked a bit embarrassed at this next admission, "they're too big to fit through the Stargate. For that matter, they're too big to even get through the SGC to the Stargate."

"So, anything more I need to know about aliens?"

"No, sir, that just about everything I got on aliens," O'Neill said.

"Can we learn anything more from studying the dead aliens?" Keller asked.

"Possibly," O'Neill replied dubiously, "but most of the science types don't think we'll learn much more than what we already have. We're better off trying to reverse engineer samples of alien technology that haven't been messed with by the Cube."

"Good," Keller said thoughtfully. "Very good. I hope you won't take it amiss if I find the prospect of us doing a real alien autopsy disturbing."

"We've done alien autopsies before," O'Niell replied with a slight grin. "Granted, the dead aliens were organic and not mechanical…"

"Please, General," Keller interrupted, holding up his hand. "I don't want to know."

"Alright, sir."

"Since we can't learn anything of value from the dead aliens anyway," Keller mused, "we might as well dispose of the bodies. Give them a proper burial where no one will find them. Maybe at sea."

"If you say so, sir."

"Well, if that's all, General…"

"Actually, sir," O'Neill interrupted, "There's still half a briefing to go."

"I thought you said we covered everything relevant about the aliens already," Keller replied.

"Yes, sir, we did," O'Niell said standing up. "But that's not all there is on Homeworld Security."

"What more is there?" Keller demanded as O'Niell went to the door.

"I think it would be better if one of my field agents explained," O'Niell said as he opened the door. He stuck his head outside. "Major Finn, you can come in now."


	2. At the Airport

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. Some people have a different theory on what happened.

Disclaimer: All things Transformers belong to Hasbro. All things Buffy belong to Joss.

**Hopkins International Airport**

**Cleveland, OH**

**Three Days after a Major News Event**

Barricade quickly came to the conclusion that he hated airports. The traffic conditions were horrendous. What was worse was that there really was no way to get around it without doing something that would attract attention. And after the battle over the Allspark, giving his position – or even his existence - away was not something to do lightly.

Stealth, not battle, was his forte after all. Hence he had elected _not_ to engage Optimus Prime in one on one combat. The Allspark didn't make him as an idiot unlike some of his more enthusiastic fellows.

Still, with Megatron dead and the Allspark destroyed, Barricade was at loose ends. Starscream had taken off for the stars, but Barricade didn't want to leave this world quite yet. He was an investigator by nature after all and this planet had several strange anomalies.

Currently, he was tracking an energy signature that looked a lot like the signature given off by the Allspark. But while it was similar, it wasn't identical. At first, Barricade had thought it was another false signature created by Sector Seven to lure any surviving Decepticons into a trap. But the more Barricade looked at the signature, the more he doubted that this signature was a trap.

He knew the Allspark had been destroyed. Undoubtedly, Sector Seven knew that as well. And even these insignificant fleshlings couldn't be so stupid as to bait a trap with something all the relevant parties knew no longer existed.

But if this energy signature was genuine, then the source it came from may very well be a source of power to rival that of the Allspark. And someone must have realized that fact, because the signature was amazingly hard to detect to begin with.

Someone or something had set up some serious ECM to mask the energy signature's very existence. It was far better than anything humans should be able to put together. In fact, it looked better than anything his own species could do. Barricade doubted that any other Decepticon - or Autobot for that matter – would even notice its existence. The ECM was constantly shifting and adapting, trying incessantly to convince the observer that everything was normal, that there was nothing significant here to see.

It was taking nearly all of Barricade's processing power just to maintain a lock on it.

And that brought him here. The source of the signature was constantly moving. Currently, it was in an airport… somewhere. The closer he got, the more difficult it became to pinpoint the source's location.

"…don't really believe that it was really military robots, do you?"

A scrap of human conversation snagged Barricade's attention. Due to some alien logic, the local human government had decided to lie to the public. It was claiming that the battle between the Autobots and Decepticons was about some experimental military robots had gone berserk. Anyone with even a passing acquaintance with the limitations of current human technology would have laughed at the idea. In fact, a number of conspiracy theorists on the Internet were claiming that Earth had been invaded by aliens and the government was in league with them. The majority of humans seemed to have decided that this vocal minority were deluded at best.

Barricade found the whole thing funny.

"So what? You think they were aliens?"

"Of course not," the first human replied. "But I think I figured out what they are."

Barricade could not help himself. He had to eavesdrop on these too. Not aliens and not Earth made robots? What else could this human think his people were?

"You think they were demons?"

Demons? A quick query of an Internet dictionary brought up the definition. Barricade took it as quite a complement.

"Titans actually," the first human specified. "They were the Titans of Greek myth."

"You're kidding," the second human said skeptically. "They don't look like any of the giants we've seen or had on record. From all the amateur video footage on the news, they're pretty clearly made out of metal."

"Hold on, let me explain," the first human said quickly. "The Titans of legend were a specific type of giant. According to legend, they were sometimes friendly with humans and sometimes not. The Greek gods seemed to consider them largely enemies. Some were said to be made of one kind of metal or another. Most important of all, some Titans such as Promertheus reportedly had _shapeshifting_ abilities."

"Nice theory, but the problem seems to have solved itself," the second human said.

"They're Titans," the first human persisted. "They gotta be."

Amused, Barricade wondered if other Decepticons or Autobots had landed on this world beyond the ones he knew about. If they had, why hadn't they sought out the Allspark? In any case, he had the source of that energy signature to run down and…

ARGH!!! He had lost lock. The humans had distracted him, diverted just enough processing power for him to lose the energy signature. Now he had to start all over. Who knew where the source would move to before he found it again?

"We'll deal with them if we run into them," the second human replied. "Come on, Dawn, we have a plane to catch."

Stupid humans...


	3. Delusions of Normality

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. So what do the _normal _people think?

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro… although some fans seem to think otherwise.

Author's Note: Some names not mentioned in the movie are taken from the novelization.

* * *

**Tranquility High School**

**First open school day after the news breaks**

"I don't get it, man," Trent DeMarco, stereotypical high school jock, said to his best friend.

"Get what?"

"Last week, that Sam Witwhiny dude was just another dweeb with a piece of junk car," Trent explained. "Now he's got a new car, popularity, and," Trent growled here, "Mikaela. What's he got that I don't got?"

"Fame, press coverage, and victory against overwhelming odds," his friend answered. "For a start."

"Huh?"

"Dude, where ya been?" Trent's friend held up a Time magazine. "It's been all over the news."

Trent snatched the magazine. On the cover was a slightly blurry image of some kind of mechanical monster. The picture looked like a still taken from video footage. The monster in it looked like it was screaming in pain, presumably caused by the smaller human figure under it holding something up that was burning against the monster's hide.

In the corner was another picture, obviously a zoom enhancement of the main one, where Sam Whatshisname's face was easily identifiable.

"Oh, man, that is so not fair," Trent muttered. "How's a guy supposed to beat that?"

"I dunno," his friend replied. "Maybe you can destroy a killer robot too."

Before Trent could reply, a stranger bumped into him. The man was obviously not a student. He looked far too old and he was dressed in ragged clothing. Trent wondered how an obvious hobo walked onto school grounds. Maybe he was a parent?

"John Conner?" the hobo asked.

"The new kid?" Trent snarled, taking his frustrations out on the guy. "How the hell should I know? Look around. He's gotta be here somewhere."

Without another word, the hobo wandered off into the crowd.

"Man, they'll let anybody in here, these days," Trent muttered. "Where were we?"

"I was saying that you could find your own killer robot to destroy," his friend reminded him.

"Oh, c'mon," Trent scoffed. "Where would I find one of those?"


	4. Playing with Vipers

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. All of this has happened before. All of this will happen again. Can I get off the ride now?

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. Battlestar Galactica belongs to… let me get back to you guys on that one.

* * *

**Battlestar Galactica**

**Colonial Refugee Fleet**

**Near the Ionian Nebula**

**Some time after a message was sent**

There were glowy people. At her young age, little Hera Agathon was only beginning to get the idea that most of the nonglowy people couldn't see them. She didn't see it as unusual. Actually, everything was unusual, interesting. This was but one more thing, and it wasn't even the most interesting one.

For example, one of the glowy people wanted to introduce her to a new friend.

So much to adult distress, Hera wandered off while no one was looking.

* * *

"It's not a real Viper," Gaeta announced.

"What?" Admiral Adama replied intelligently.

"Starbuck's Viper," Gaeta explained. "It's not real. Or more to the point, it's not Colonial manufacture. It's a very good imitation, but material samples taken from it don't conform to anything ever made in the Colonies."

"So the Cylons made a completely new Mark II Viper?" Admiral Adama asked. Not that Adama would put it past them, but making a new Viper from scratch seemed like an absurd waste of resources for a ruse that any idiot could see through.

"Actually," Gaeta continued, "the materials don't conform to anything that we know the Cylons have been using. They're," Gaeta paused, looking for the right term, "alien."

"And then there's the little matter of its ability to repair itself," Tyrol added. At the Admiral's questioning look, he continued. "The minor damage caused when we took the sample is gone. I swear, sir, I turned away for five minutes and then the little gouge we made was gone."

* * *

Hera's Mommy and Daddy flew planes. Lots of Mommy's and Daddy's friends flew planes too. One of the glowy people pointed out a plane that was different from the other planes. It had its own internal sparkle, kind of like the same sparkle people had inside.

Hera had yet to work out that most people couldn't see these sparkles.

The big room where the planes lived was empty and dark at the moment. No one but the planes observed Hera half crawl, half toddle over the the special plane. Once she reached it, she looked up wide eyed at the sparkly plane.

"Kah mos!" she called out.

Nothing on the plane moved. It sat there as inert as all the other planes, but Hera sensed that she had its attention.

"Kah mos!" she called out again.

Now the plane responded. Parts of it folded and unfolded, rearranging itself until a vaguely human shaped form towered above the child. It stood up, and then bumped its head against the ceiling with an audible clang.

Hera laughed happily.

Rubbing its head, the huge robot crouched down to observe the strange little organic creature. Glowing blue eyes regarded Hera thoughtfully. From snippets of conversation he had picked up from other humans, he had thought revealing himself would have alarmed these creatures. Yet this one not only displayed no fear, it obviously knew who and what Cosmos was.

"My name translates into your language as Cosmos," it said.

"Kah mos!"

"Cosmos," Cosmos corrected gently.

"Kah mos!"

"Cosmos. Cooooosmoooos."

"Kah mos!"

Cosmos gave up. "Can I help you, little one?"

"Kah mos! Play!" Hera replied.

"Play?" Cosmos considered this. "What is play?"

"Play! Fly!"

"Fly? Yes, I can fly," Cosmos said. "You wish to fly?"

"Fly!"

"Okay." With that, Cosmos transformed again, shifting back into the form of a Colonial Viper. The cockpit canopy slid open. "Hop in."

Alas, Hera's joy ride was not to be. For at that moment was when they were interrupted.

"Hera! There you are! Everyone's been looking for you!"

"Unca Dog!" Hera exclaimed as the adult picked her up.

"C'mon, kid," Hot Dog said as he carried her off. "Let's get you back to your, Momma."

"Bye, Kah mos!" Hera called, waving he little arm.

Unseen by Hot Dog behind his back, an arm unfolded from the Viper, waved back, then folded back in. The trip to Earth, Cosmos reflected, was going to be more interesting than he thought.


	5. Dealing with the Devil

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. Even the wisest ones have their foolish moments.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. All things Angel belong to Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy.

* * *

**Sunnydale Memorial Park**

**Edge of Sunnydale Crater**

**California**

**Six weeks after an Allspark and lone spark combined**

The Sunnydale Memorial Park had been established by the State of California after the town of Sunnydale had mysteriously collapsed. It had become quite the tourist attraction since opening, people coming to see the ocean filled crater in wondering awe. Aside from the crater, there were of course the usual information booths and concession stands. There was the strange stone monument with names carved in it that had mysteriously appeared one day. And then there were the more secluded areas that were obscured by trees that offered ideal locations for clandestine meetings.

In one such clearing, a lone young woman sat on a park bench. Aside from being a rather pretty twenty-something who appeared to enjoying the sunshine, there was little to distinguish her from any other tourist. The same could not be said for the gaudily painted long nose truck that was pulling up the gravel road to her. Vehicles such as that rarely if ever visited the park.

But then, it wasn't really a truck.

A slight tilt of her head and the woman was looking at the truck.

"What do you want?" she asked. Her voice was blunt, would have been considered rude except the statement lacked anything that might be considered malice, compassion, or any hint of emotion at all. It was a direct query and nothing more.

The truck stopped... and transformed. Panels slid aside. Parts rearranged themselves. In mere a seconds, a humanoid robot stood towering over the miniscule being. When they see one his kind transform for the first time, humans were usually impressed, fascinated and awed by the smoothness of and quickness of transformation.

This human was unimpressed.

But as the superior sensors that the robot used in its humanoid form gazed upon the small organic being it had come here to meet, it realized that this creature was not human. Her appearance as such was as much a façade as his alternate mode of a truck was. That was encouraging.

"Greetings," he began. "I am Optimus Prime."

"Yes, yes," the woman replied impatiently. "I know who you are. What do you want?"

"My people are dying," Optimus began. "In a recent battle, the Alspark - the means by which my kind reproduces - has been destroyed. Without it to replenish our numbers, time and entropy will whittle away at our numbers until we are no more." He pulled out the remnant of the Allspark that he had extracted from Megatron's chest. "Discreet inquiries I have made on this world have led me to believe that you can help us."

"Why should I help you?" the other asked. "It is the nature of our kind that either we learn to reproduce or we die. If you have not learned to do so after all this time, then you are not worthy of such in the first place."

"Please."

"Stupid human impulses," she muttered under her breath. "Fine. Give it here. I will see what I can do."

"Thank you," Optimus said gratefully as he handed her the fragment.

"You realize that there will be a price for this action, do you not?" the organic asked as she took the fragment. "And that likely it shall be bitter and costly?"

"Saving my people will be worth any price you ask for."

"It may not be I that you pay the cost to," she murmured. "Although at some future date, I do intend to collect." She concentrated on the Allspark fragment in her hand and after a moment, both began to be suffused by some internal light. "Hello, Primus."

The reply was instantaneous, powerful, and heard only by her.

HELLO ILLYRIA.

* * *

For eons, the inhabitants of Cybertron had regarded the object they called the Allspark as the source of life. They regarded with a mixture of awe and envy, reverence and desire. It had other capabilities that none of them could duplicate. And it seemed utterly passive, sometimes doing what they asked of it, sometimes not, but never taking any action on its own.

The inhabitants of Cybertron were wrong.

In truth, the thing they called the Allspark was a remote terminal, a dumb machine that connected to a pocket universe, the private residence of a very old, very powerful being. Some residents of Earth might call that being a god, or an ascended being, or an Old One. And some would have been hard pressed to tell what the difference between the three.

Though the Allspark terminal was broken, Illyria managed to piece together enough of what was left to form a crude connection. It was her people's equivalent of cobbling together a low bandwidth phone conversation over a high speed computer network.

"Hello, Primus," she greeted.

"Hello, Illyria," Primus replied. He regarded her for a moment. "You've shrunk."

* * *

Optimus heard nothing of what passed between them. What he observed was that he strange glow surrounding slowly grew brighter concentrated mostly around the fragment of the Allspark. Within the light, space fluctuated, frothing at the quantum level as sub atomic particles popped into existence and then did not immediately disappear as they normally would. Instead they stayed, and attached themselves to the Allspark fragment.

It was not like what Optimus had seen before. He had seen the Allspark mass shift before, expanding out and contracting in on itself on request. This looked more like a reconstruction of the Allspark. On reflection, Optimus decided that this was exactly what he asked for.

The light peaked and seemed to gather in on itself. And then it shot straight up into the sky, leaving behind a newly rebuilt Allspark in Illyria's hands.

"It is complete," Illyria announced. She handed the Allpark back to Optimus.

"Thank you," he told her. "You have saved my people."

"Perhaps," she replied. Illyria looked upward to where the light had gone. "Your maker has already extracted his payment." She looked back at Optimus. "And there is still my price to be paid."

"Anything," he said. "What do you want in exchange?"

"Your maker has told me that there is life form that would serve as a shell much more adequately than my current one," Illyria told him. "It is in what the humans call the Pegasus galaxy. I require transportation there."

"That…" Optimus hesitated, accessing the human Internet. "That is very far away. The trip will take a long time, even by our standards."

"Unacceptable," Illyria replied. "I must acquire one before the humans destroy them all."

* * *

Several thousand miles away, no one observed a streak of light descend from the sky and plunge into the ocean. The light continued downward into the Laurentian Abyss, barely impeded by the mass of water and pressure in one of the deepest places on Earth. When it reached its destination, and inert metal form, it vanished.

Two red eyes began to glimmer with life.


	6. Fighting Fire

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Various people react to the events of the Transformers movie. Things go boom.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. Firestarter belongs to… Stephan King I think.

* * *

**Just off the Alaska Highway**

**British Columbia**

**Canada**

**Six months after a leader had fallen**

Charlie McGee was a city girl at heart. As such, camping out in the back woods of Canada in minus fifty degree winter weather was so not her style. She was a healthy young woman and as such, missed the bright lights, the clubs, and just plain being around people. On the other hand, the Canadian back woods had a couple advantages.

For one thing, if Charlie accidentally set fire to her bedding while asleep again, she wouldn't wind up burning down the surrounding woods. If nothing else, she'd just have to reach over and grab some snow.

She still felt a bit guilty for that one time in California.

Another advantage to being in the middle of nowhere is that she didn't have to be constantly looking over her shoulder for government and/or corporate secret agents. Being the end result of some highly illegal experiments psychic powers tended to leave her terminally paranoid. Sometimes her life seemed like one long chase by people who wanted to exploit her abilities.

They had actually caught up with her once. The end of that little bit of drama had included burning down a sizable chunk of a small town. No, it was better out here, just Charlie in her sleeping bag, lying on the open snow under a clear night sky full of stars.

And one fireball, which flashed over her, impacting nearby in a ground shaking explosion of dirt and tree fragments.

Charlie scrambled out of her sleeping bag and put on some shoes. Despite the subfreezing temperatures, Charlie had only been wearing a thin tank top and shorts to bed. But the shoes were important thing. Even though she instinctively used her power to stay warm, for some reason, those instincts didn't include stray bits of vegetation and rock from poking the bottom of her feet.

Curiosity and concern propelled her forward. From what little she had seen, the object had probably been a meteor. But Charlie wasn't sure of that, and if that had been a plane, someone might be in need of help. Of course, helping a crash victim would probably also bring her to the attention of people she wanted to avoid.

Sometimes she cursed her heroic impulses.

But when she got to the crash site, a giant and definitely mechanical figure was standing up. As Charlie gaped at it, her mind flashed back to news reports and internet forums of the previous summer of gargantuan robots fighting in the streets of an American city. The U.S. government claimed they were top secret military hardware gone rogue. Conspiracy minded theorists claimed aliens had invaded. Some of the really out there websites had claimed they were demons and monsters from alternate dimensions.

It looked like Charlie was going to find out which.

"Uh, hello?" she called out tentatively. "Are you in need of help?"

Glowing red eyes zeroed in on her.

"Such a lovely, lovely world," the giant began slowly. It began making sounds that sounded a lot like maniacal laughter. "This world is so full of things that burn. Soooo many chemical compounds to produce light and heat, where ever shall I start?"

Definitely alien, Charlie thought.

"Don't take this the wrong way," she said to the alien, "but my people really won't like it if you start setting fires at random."

"Indeed?" the alien replied. Something was happening to its arm. It looked like it was rearranging itself. "But I am Inferno, and I…" it pointed its arm at Charlie and where a hand used to be was something that looked a lot like the muzzle of a gun, "BURN!!!"

* * *

Star hot plasma gushed like water from Inferno's arm, washing over the puny fleshling and some of the surrounding vegetation. Snow flashed into vapor and trees exploded. He cackled madly, enjoying all the lovely destruction. Pity the current environs weren't conducive to letting the fire spread on its own.

But his laughter trailed off when he shut off the stream of plasma and the tiny organic creature emerged unharmed. No, not only was it unharmed, it was radiating a substantial amount of electromagnetic radiation from the infrared up to what the human Internet would have termed yellow visible light. And there were traces of even more exotic particles in there, particles that could not exist outside the extreme conditions of the…

"Okay, buddy," the human said. In the words of the natives of this world, she sounded pissed. "You want to play with fire? Let's play with fire."

…Big Bang.

* * *

Observation satellites in orbit picked up the explosion immediately. The observed yield was calculated to be somewhere in the neighborhood of fifteen kilotons of TNT, just slightly more powerful than the atom bomb that leveled Hiroshima. However, there was little in way of hard radiation. The blast, whatever it was, had been entirely made up of heat and light.

All over North America, people woke up to reports of a meteor that had devastated a small chunk of Canadian wilderness and damaged a piece of highway. The meteor had vaporized on impact and there was even telemetry of it coming down. There was even a survivor, a pretty young woman who had been rescued after somehow miraculously surviving the meteor impact and the Canadian winter.

Of course, the public never got the raw take of the telemetry data. Long strings of numbers were hardly ratings grabbers even if careful inspection did show that the explosions had occurred several minutes AFTER the "meteor" had hit the ground.

Meanwhile, the people at the Stargate project simply assumed that an alien ship had landed and whether by design or accident had suffered a catastrophic breakdown. Of course, they wanted to talk to the survivor, if only to make sure she hadn't come with the ship.

An isolationistic subculture of wizards also took note of the explosion. A political crisis among them was provoked when it was leaked that the explosion had a very strong magical signature and had taken place uncomfortably close to a major magical creature reserve. Accusations flew back and forth between individual wizarding governments, but eventually died down with no one the wiser of what really had happened. In fact, all the finger pointing just muddied the issue further.

In the Office of Homeworld Security, a minor intel analyst who had formerly been with a now defunct agency took one look at the survivor's picture and knew exactly who she was. A quick meeting with General O'Neill resulted in orders being dispatched to release the girl as soon as was feasible and in the meantime, every effort should be made to keep her happy and comfortable.

The day after that, the Earth was still there.


	7. Public Service Announcement

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: We take a break from our regular AARs to bring you a friendly, slightly fourth wall breaking Public Service Announcement based on recent reviews that were long on venom and short on meaningful content.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot belong to Warner Bros. Any characters that resemble any real persons past, present, or future are entirely coincidental. Really!

* * *

**Shockwave's Laboratory**

**Decepticon Starship**

**Deep Space**

**Seven Months after a movie premiered**

"Shockwave."

"Soundwave, what news have you to report?" Shockwave asked, turning away from his current "experiment".

"I have intercepted a broadcast on the Autobot's general communication channel," the other Decepticon replied. "Decryption reveals it to be from Optimus…"

Alas, his report was cut off, interrupted by a high pitched voice.

"Hold on a second there!"

"CUT!!!" yelled the human director. "How'd this guy get on the set?"

"I don't know, sir," one of his assistants replied as he pulled out a cell phone. "I'm calling security right now."

"Is there a problem?" Shockwave asked the intruder.

"Yeah, there's a problem!" the intruder replied, still at the top of his lungs. "This whole movie's a #ing travesty and an insult to true Cybertronians everywhere!"

"'True Cybertronians'?" Shockwave asked skeptically as he scanned the intruder. Although human, the intruder appeared to be dressed in an array of cardboard boxes that were colorfully painted to suggest wheels, windows, antennae, and other vehicular or robotic parts.

"Yes!" the intruder continued. "We TRUE CYBERTRONIANS© are the true keepers of the G1 Legacies. You (#$ers aren't Transformers! You're a bunch of (&#ing ugly wannabes and how DARE you #ing claim the mantle!"

"Dude, my agent said all the femmebots find this look sexy," Soundwave wailed. He burst into tears.

"Oh great," the director muttered. "There goes the day's shooting. Look kid…"

"And you!" the intruder continued screaming, turning on the director. "Who (&#ing gave you the )(#ing right to make this #$?!"

"I dunno," the director growled back. "The owners of the franchise maybe?"

"WHAT?!" the intruder yelped. "Man, those (&ing fascists don't know nothing about TRUE Transformers! They're gonna ruin Transformers forev…"

Anything further the intruder might have said was cut off when a lance of artificial lightning vaporized him on the spot.

"Shockwave!" the director exclaimed.

"What?" Shockwave replied as his right arm reconfigured back to hand mode.

"I've told you before, you can't just shoot up the sets at random!" the director told him. "Set are expensive y'know."

"Sorry, Mike," Shockwave replied. "He just made me so mad."

"Okay, we can probably shoot around the crater," the director continued. "Alright people, let's get cracking. Move Camera A over there. Camera B can go over…"

* * *

"Wheel of Morality, turn, turn, turn," Yakko chanted as he spun the wheel on the machine. "Tell us the lesson that we should learn!"

The wheel stopped. The machine dinged. A piece of paper was spat out.

"When reviewing fanfic," Dot read from the paper, "it helps to not confuse the author of the fanfic with the author of the source material, or for that matter, the author of OTHER fanfics. Also, malicious insults tend to be perceived as free of constructive content and are thus generally not appreciated."

"Wow!" Yakko said, impressed. "That all fit on that little bit of paper?"

"I don't get it," Wakko said confused.


	8. A Snake is Born

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Criminal activity takes on a whole new dimension.

Disclaimer: Everything belong to Hasbro.

* * *

**Docks**

**A port on the Black Sea**

**Three months after an American victory**

The man was an arms dealer. Although he had a sideline in shipping other illicit goods, his primary business was shipping and trading things that went boom on command. Business had been up lately, but so had expenses. While the War on Terror had seen an increase in sales, it had also seen an increase in expenses as various governments tried to crack down on the people supplying the terrorists.

All in all, the man considered, profits were coming out about the same, and the only thing he had more of than before was stress.

Still, he was here for a face to face meeting. It wasn't even a sale really, so he hadn't brought more than a few personal weapons and bodyguards, nothing that couldn't be explained away to some nosy government busybody. If this was a sting, then he had no evidence with him that he was doing anything illicit.

The meeting place was practically a cliché. It was a warehouse on the docks, currently unused and empty of any inconvenient witnesses. His bodyguards had swept the building and found no one.

That was a problem because the person he was meeting should have been here by now.

"No one at all?" he asked his head body guard.

"No, sir," came the reply. "We've checked every inch of this place. Not a soul to be found."

"Then who does that," the arms dealer pointed at the old Land Rover sitting in the middle of the warehouse, "belong to?" The vehicle had already been checked for explosives. You never knew when a customer might think it expedient to get rid of a supplier.

"I? I belong to myself." The voice, harsh and mechanical, came from the Land Rover. Then the vehicle seemed to explode as it seemed to come apart and then rearrange its component pieces into a humanoid form. The process took mere seconds, and the arms dealer found himself looking into glowing red eyes.

He stifled a gasp of awe and astonishment. He immediately recognized it as one of the same kind of machines that had recently fought in the streets of an American city. The American government claimed they were top secret experimental robots gone haywire. Some individuals like the arms dealer were inclined to doubt the claim.

It looked like he was about to find out personally.

"And to who do I have the pleasure of addressing?" he asked calmly. Giant killer robot or not, the arms dealer was not about to show weakness to it.

His guards on the other hand, were openly nervous and pointing their weapons at the robot, not that submachine guns would be all that effective from everything he had heard. Still, they hadn't fired and the robot made no threatening moves. But this seemed like a time for negotiations, not combat, so the body guards were largely irrelevant anyway.

"The closest term your language has to my name is 'swindle'," the giant replied. "Yes, I like that name. I am Swindle."

"And what business do you have with me, Swindle?" the arms dealer asked. "Somehow I very much doubt that you have a use for anything in my inventory."

"Oh, I don't want to buy your primitive scrap," Swindle told him. "I want to sell."

"Sell? Sell what?" the arms dealer wondered aloud. "Do you by chance have a cache of ray guns available?"

"Alas, no," Swindle sighed, rather melodramatically the arms dealer thought. "I only arrived on this planet recently carrying nothing but what you see before you. I can however, supply you with advanced weapon designs. With those, you could manufacture your own 'ray guns' and so much more."

"Sounds… intriguing," the arms dealer replied. God, what could he not do with such weapons? Still, years of experience in this business made him cautious. "And what do you want in return? Somehow I don't think you're giving all this away our of the goodness of your heart… or whatever you have for a heart."

"Ah, you mean besides a cut of the profits?"

"Of course."

"Refuge," Swindle told him. "My people are in need of refuge. Our enemies have allied themselves with the American government. No doubt, they both will hunt down more of my people as they arrive upon this world. Having one or more of your local governments to shield us from persecution would be… immensely profitable for our hosts. I am sure you would know any number of third rate nations who are looking for a… status upgrade shall we say."

"Your offer is tempting," the arms dealer admitted. "But how do I know I can trust a… being named 'Swindle' of all things?"

"We are much alike, you and I," Swindle told him. "It would be in my best interests to honor the deal. It is especially in my interest since I intend to make my fellow Decepticons – as you humans say – 'pay through the nose' for any refuge I may be able to supply them."

The arms dealer couldn't help himself. He smiled. "Yes," he said slowly. "I do believe we can do business, Swindle. I'm certain I can find a country or two that will take your people in."

"Excellent," Swindle agreed. "All that remains now is to work out the details, Baron Mc…"

"Please," the arms dealer interrupted. "For this business, I prefer my nom de guerre, Destro."


	9. Triple threat

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Three sets of bad guys get together. We all know how that goes.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. Stargate and BSG belong to…

* * *

**Deep space**

**Cylon Expeditionary Fleet**

**Some time after a boy bought a used car**

Something was wrong.

The Number Eight model Cylon popularly known as "Boomer" was stirred out from a good self pitying brood. She sensed a thread of concern making its way through the Eight subnet and by extension from the other model Cylons.

For some reason, the Cylon network was designed with virtual subnets. Each subnet was dedicated to one particular model of Cylon wherein memories could be traded, the first steps of consensus voting established, and weird gossip and private jokes about other models exchanged.

Boomer herself was loathe to actually link herself to the net. While she couldn't isolate herself entirely – not on a basestar where every ship movement was decided by vote – Boomer participated as little as possible. This was because she hated Cylons in general, hated herself for being a Cylon, and most of all, hated that other Number Eight who had more or less stolen her life and friends aboard the Galactica.

The New Caprica fiasco hadn't help.

More than anything now, Boomer just wanted it all to end. Unfortunately, suicide was literally not an option. The Cylon resurrection net would ensure that she'd keep coming back to this miserable life. Not only that, any actual attempts might make the others think that she had gone defective and "box" her, a fate Boomer understood to be worse than real death.

So in the end, Boomer isolated herself. Boomer was aware that the other Eights were concerned about her. It had become a popular topic among them, theorizing what exactly was going on in Boomer's mind. On the few occasions that she had looked in on those debates, it had startled Boomer to see how utterly naïve and inaccurate a majority of those theories were.

Still, this new concern Boomer sensed didn't seem connected to her. Compelled by her own curiosity, Boomer reluctantly linked into the net. It took mere moments to determine what everyone was worried about.

Fifteen minutes ago, a new Cylon basestar had jumped in. At first, everyone had assumed that it was simply more reinforcements sent up to replace the losses at New Caprica. As time passed however, the new basestar had refused to communicate. There was no ID, no net connection. There wasn't even an empty carrier signal. And attempts to contact any individual Cylons on board had also been met with silence.

Visual inspection of the basestar's exterior showed that there were no Raiders in any of its launch bays. There was also some kind of abstract logo etched on the pylons, a sharp and angular face or mask that was definitely not Cylon in origin. That wasn't to say the silent basestar was completely emissions free. It was pumping out a lot of power in the form of DRADIS scans for some reason.

The consensus among the Cylons was that someone was going to have to physically go aboard and see what was going on. But there was a problem here. Boomer observed scornfully that no one was actually willing to go and the fleet was short of expendable humans.

The deadlock might have continued forever if yet another ship hadn't suddenly jumped in. And everything about that one was just… alien.

For a start, the energy signature that signaled its transition from FTL was all wrong. The ship was also big, bigger even than the Resurrection ship which had been the biggest ship in the Cylons' records until now. And the newcomer's ship was of a configuration never seen before.

To Boomer, it looked like a giant jock strap.

The net immediately exploded with speculation. Was this an Earth ship? Was it from a completely alien race entirely? Some wanted to attack just on principle. Others argued for trying to talk first. The talk first crowd one, if only because there was nothing to lose by it. Just in case though, weapons were prepared and Raiders readied to launch.

A neutral greeting was sent out.

"All hail the Ori," came the reply.

"ALL HAIL MEGATRON!!!" the silent until now basestar suddenly replied.

* * *

"Carter!"

"Sir," Colonel Samantha Carter, USAF, replied happily. "You came to see me off?"

"I just wanted to pay my respects to the best second in command I've ever had," General O'Neill told her. "After all, God only knows when you can get back from Atlantis."

"Thanks, sir," Carter said, flattered.

"Not a problem."

"Actually, sir, I was hoping to catch you before I left," Carter said. "I know this probably won't have any bearing on my new position, but I have a couple of questions about the report on these new robot aliens."

"You mean the Transformers?"

"Transformers?"

"Yeah, my staff wanted a faction neutral term to refer to them as a whole," O'Neill explained. "And 'Tansformers' is a hell of a lot catchier than 'Cybertronian' or whatever."

"Oh, okay," Carter said, digesting this bit of trivia. "Anyway, I was wondering if anyone's looked into the, um, Transformers' abilities to assimilate advanced technology."

"Pardon?"

"It's just that one of things the Transformers can do is to just look at a machine, and then mimic it to the point where it's impossible to tell the difference between the genuine machine and a disguised Transformer," Carter continued. "That's an incredible level of detail which doesn't quite jibe with their estimated level of technology."

"So you're saying my analysts are off?" O'Neill asked. He paused to consider. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to take a desk job in the Pentagon?"

"No, sir," Carter replied, smiling. "What I'm really wondering is that, if the Transformers scan technology more advanced than their own – some of the Asgard technology in the _Apollo_ comes to mind - can they mimic that as well and thus effectively upgrade themselves? If they can, it would suggest an assimilation ability on par with the Replicators."

"Huh, I don't think anyone else has thought of it," O'Neill said thoughtfully. "I'd hate to think what those Cons would do with Asgard, Ancient, or even Ori technology."

* * *

The aliens must have been pissed off, Boomer thought.

They fired some sort of spinal mount gun. An impossibly powerful lance of plasma speared out to strike the offending basestar. It missed. Equally impossibly, the basestar in question had actually dodged the shot, accelerating out of the way as a rate not even a battlestar – and certainly no genuine basestar – could match.

But if the strange basestar could dodge the aliens' energy blast, the Resurection Ship it had been sitting in front of could not. It exploded into a fireball from just a glancing hit by the beam.

The Cylon reaction was only natural. Everyone opened fire on the alien ship.

They might as well have been spitting at it. The alien ship was protected by some kind of invisible forcefield that absorbed missiles and bullets. As far as Boomer could tell, no damage was being done at all. And the aliens apparently agreed because they were still trying to kill that supermobile basestar.

Except that couldn't be a real basestar. Aside from its maneuverability, that single transmission it had sent carried a single ID marker that was wrong, wrong, wrong!

The alien finally scored a hit with some smaller secondary energy weapon that was probably their equivalent of a point defense turret. It did nothing however as the "basestar" had somehow acquired its own forcefield. And then another impossible thing happened.

The fake basestar… transformed, for lack of a better term. Pylons swiveled, folded and unfolded. One turned into a head, another a tail. The rest became clawed limbs and spread wings. The Cylons and unknown aliens found themselves facing a basestar-sized dragon.

Its ID marker had named it "Trypticon".

Trypticon reared its head, and spat out a plasma bolt that to the Cylons, appeared identical in every way to big ones the unidentified aliens had been firing. And the aliens apparently, weren't as good at dodging. Their ship visibly staggered. Their forcefield must have fluctuated because a few cylon missiles leaked through, not that they did more than cosmetic damage.

Suddenly, Trypticon swooped in. The dragon was suddenly on top of the alien starship and the shield seemed to fail completely. Trypticon clawed and tore into the alien vessel with a ferociousness that would have done credit to any natural animal. And then it happened.

Several Cylon missiles hit Trypticon.

It was a complete accident of course. Trypticon's charge had taken the Cylons by surprise. The missiles had already been fired at the alien ship. Trypticon's had merely gotten itself in the way. The damage inflicted on the dragon appeared to be just as cosmetic as it had been against the aliens.

Trypticon however, appeared to be in no mood to be understanding. It let out an inarticulate roar of outrage over all communication channels. Then it spat fire at Boomer's ship.

The plasma bolt was slower than light, but not by much. There was no dodging it. For just that instant, Boomer knew she was dead. Without the Resurrection Ship, there was no coming back now if she died, especially if all the real basestars were destroyed too. Fate, the gods, or maybe even the Cylon God, had decided to grant Boomer her wish. Boomer was prepared to welcome death with open arms when she was hit with a familiar gut wrenching sensation.

Her basestar had jumped, running away.


	10. Quibbling

After Action Review

By Nopporn Wongrassamee the Evil Author

Summary: Harry Potter and friends discuss those wacky Americans.

Disclaimer: Transformers belong to Hasbro. Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling.

* * *

**The Leaky Cauldron**

**London**

**Great Britain**

**One month after a Cube last made magic**

"Congratulations, Neville!"

It was a small private party. Such were not unusual in the Leaky Cauldron. The bar had seen plenty of small parties, groups of friends out to celebrate something they considered significant. What was unusual about this particular party was that it consisted of some of the most famous wizards and witches in Wizarding Britain.

Not that they cared. Fame was fleeting. Their friendship had been forged in fires far hotter and personal.

"Thanks, guys," Neville replied.

"So how are you settling in as Hogwart's newest professor?" Hermione asked him.

"You wouldn't believe how much paperwork I have to do," Neville answered with a mock moan. "And I haven't even had any students yet."

"Oh yes we would," Ron replied with good humor.

"Ron, Hermione, and I work in the Ministry," Harry added. "I think the whole organization just lives on paperwork."

And thus began another round of storytelling as each friend attempted to top each other with tales of workplace woes. Eventually, conversation moved on to other topics and the friends broke up into small subgroups, catching each other up on what they had been doing.

"So, Harry," Luna began. "Does the Ministry have an official position on the American problem, yet?"

"Are you asking as a friend or as a reporter?" Harry asked half-jokingly.

"There's a difference?"

"That's what I like about you, Luna," Harry quipped, "always direct and to the point. And no, as far as I know, there's no change. The Ministry's official position is that if it happens in America, it's the Americans' problem."

After the defeat of Voldemort, the _Quibbler_ had emerged from the War with much more respect from the wizarding populace than it used to have, at least in the realm of political editorials anyway. Over the last few years though, that respect had been eroding away as the magazine began fixating on the United States. The _Quibbler_ was claiming that the American wizards had tossed out the International Statute of Secrecy and were aiding the American muggle government in clandestine magical research. The British Ministry of Magic denied any such thing was actually happening and even if it was (which it wasn't), it was out of their jurisdiction anyway. In any case, they had too much to do putting Wizarding Britain back together after the Voldemort War. Interviews with a few American representatives also denied any such violations were going on.

Harry had read a few articles himself. There were horror stories about Initiatives and Stargates, tales of top secret projects to created magically augmented muggles like invisible men or half machine women, and the big whopper that the Americans had found Atlantis. While Harry found most of these stories as just too strange to be true, he had learned a few things. For one, there was that myth that the first Wizards had originally come from Atlantis, not that anyone he asked had actually believed it.

And since her father owned the _Quibbler_, Luna had of course gone to work for him as a reporter.

"Well, what about that battle last month?" Luna pressed on.

"Battle? What battle?"

"Last month, there was some kind of fight in a major American city," Hermione put in. The topic of conversation seemed to have drawn her in. "Apparently the combatants included muggle soldiers and some kind of giant robots. It's been all over the muggle news."

Everyone stared at her.

"What? Some of us like to keep up with what's going on in the muggle world, you know," Hermione huffed. She turned to Luna. "So, Luna, why don't you give us an exclusive and tell us what you think really happened over there."

"Oh, um, I really shouldn't talk about it," Luna demurred. "You might not buy the next issue if you already knew what was in it."

"We already have subscription, Luna," Ginny put in. "Wasn't that your present to all of us last Christmas?"

"Oh, right," Luna said, abashed. "Daddy's been going on about not giving stuff."

"So what's so important about muggle robots anyway?" Harry asked.

"They're not really robots," Luna explained quietly, as if being cautious about being overheard. Not that quietness would help. None of them had cast any anti-listening charms. "My sources say that they're Titans, shapeshifting giants made out of metal."

"What? Regular giants aren't good enough?" Ron asked jokingly. "Hagrid would be so disappointed to hear that."

"Actually," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Luna might have a point. These robots do seem to vaguely match the old Titan legends."

"What, Luna and Hermione are actually in agreement?" Neville interjected, laughing. "Wow, it really is the apocalypse!" he added, referring to the _Quibbler_'s second biggest obsession. There was even a yearly article devoted to "Apocalypses Averted This Year".

"They were all fighting over a magical artifact that reportedly could…" Luna paused, as if even she was in doubt of her next statement. "Well, it could create life."

"Okay, now that's impossible," Hermione said.

"Apocalypse averted," Ron stage whispered to Neville.

"You cannot create life with magic," Hermione stated, ignoring the byplay. "On the other hand, you can animate stuff to mimic life. A really skilled wizard could even make an animation charm permanent."

"I thought about that too," Luna admitted. "There are spells that can tell the difference, but I don't know any of them."

"Well I do," Hermione said. "If there were any of these animated things around, I could prove that they're just animated, not alive."

"Oh, good!" Luna said happily. "I have one right here." She pulled something out of her pocket.

"A digital camera?" Hermione said skeptically. "Those things won't even work here."

"This one actually does," Luna told her. "I've even used it at Hogwarts. Whatever was done to it makes it work even in highly magical areas."

"That hardly constitutes life," Hermione said dubiously.

"Well, there's also this." Luna addressed her camera. "Spy Shot, say hello."

Everyone gaped as the camera suddenly transformed. It was utterly unlike transfiguration where a spell changed one thing into another. To the unaided eye, a transfiguration spell resembled the "morphing" trick so popular in muggle movies. Here, the camera seemed to disassemble and reassemble itself.

"Hello," the former camera squeaked when it was done changing. Tiny glowing blue eyes stared up at the humans surrounding it.

"Is that a Titan?" Hermione asked.

"It's kind of small for a Titan," Rod added doubtfully.

"But it looks like the pictures of the big ones in the muggle news," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It's just not… big."

"I think he's of the same species," Luna replied. "That's assuming Spy Shot is alive, of course. Hermione?"

"What?" Hermione shook herself. "Oh, right, the test." She held up her wand.

"Hurt?" the little Titan asked, looking up at Luna.

"It better not!" Luna replied, looking sharply at Hermione.

"Relax, it… he'll be fine," Hermione said quickly. "All this spell does is determine if something is alive or not. If he's alive, he'll glow yellow. It he's just an animated knick knack, he'll glow green. Either way, the spell's harmless."

"All right, then," Luna said, slightly mollified. "Go ahead then."

Hermione cast the spell.

Spy Shot glowed a bright yellow.


End file.
